


Except For A Few Small Bruises

by justbreathe80



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbreathe80/pseuds/justbreathe80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd been living like this long enough to know what being scared felt like, and yet this wasn't like any of that. Rodney hadn't wanted to know so that he could hurt John or laugh at him or pigeon hole him as the bratty rich boy. He'd wanted to know John, and John knew that if he could keep from running, he might finally be free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Except For A Few Small Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to cold_poet, who never fails to come through, and seemed to actually enjoy how rough the draft was that I sent her. *g* Thanks also to strangecobwebs and riverlight for reading through and letting me know that you thought I'd hit the mark. And to busaikko, for kicking me in the right direction when I needed it.

"Shit," John muttered under his breath, pawing desperately around in his backpack for a notebook—which he was _sure_ he had somewhere—and something to write with. The professor was writing furiously on the blackboard in front of him and talking a mile a minute. This was the fifth physics class John had taken above the 200-level since sophomore year, even though he was a math major, but it was the very first time John had not understood a _single goddamn word_ of what was going on. The first couple of weeks had been a review of the Intro class, and so John had managed to keep up without much trouble. But now? It might as well have been in Mandarin for all that John could understand it.

He also hadn't taken many notes in his three years at Stanford, finding that the courses really weren't much more challenging than those at Woodberry Forest had been. In fact, he was pretty sure that he'd bought the notebook in which he was scribbling frantically at the beginning of his first semester on campus, probably thinking that things would be different than high school. Or maybe to have something to bring home to Virginia with him with the Stanford logo on it.

John furrowed his brow, trying to assimilate any of the words coming from the front of the classroom, but even his own hasty notes looked like a jumble of complete and utter nonsense. He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to focus them, and apparently he missed something, as the room had gone quiet and a paper smacked down in front of him on the desk. "What?" John said softly, confused.

"Professor Hsu is returning our tests from last week," the thin girl next to him said, pushing her glasses up on her nose a bit.

"Oh," John said, casting his eyes down and seeing the big red 52 glaring at him from the top of the page, red scrawled all over the whole page, and Hsu's stern "See me" staring John down.

Damn it. He turned his head to see the girl next to him, face a bit red and tucking her brown hair behind her ear, looking away quickly. "I'm so screwed."

The girl glanced at him and sighed, like she couldn't imagine meeting a stupider person than John Sheppard. "Why are you even taking this class?"

* * *

The Psi Upsilon house looked like a bomb had gone off when John got back, the exam folded up and grasped in one hand. "God, Chris," John said, kicking a pizza box away from the front door to open it all the way, "you're such a fucking _pig_." Chris, John's roommate in the house since he'd pledged sophomore year and, somewhat sadly, his very best friend at Stanford, looked up at him blearily from the disgusting couch that John never sat on if he could avoid it. Chris's legs were stretched out along the length of it, and he had a textbook opened to, despite already being three and a half weeks into the semester, what appeared to be page one.

"Welcome home, honey," Chris pushed himself up and let the book slide off and hit the floor. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Fuck off," John mumbled, trying to push his way through the mess toward the stairs. He tripped over a bottle and in an effort to keep his balance he let go of his test, which landed on the floor oh-so-conveniently in front of where Chris sat. "Don't—" John started, but Chris was already leaning over.

"Physics 361: Stellar and Galactic Astrophysics." Chris read it like it was a Dick and Jane book or something, which was about in line with the amount of work John had seen him do over the past three years, and John felt like everything he'd carefully constructed about himself since the driver dropped him off in Palo Alto was crumbling around him. He'd never told anyone at the house that he took advanced physics classes for _fun_, for Christ's sake. "Is this some kind of joke?"

John managed to get over to the couch and grab the test back from the floor, the red writing taunting him as he stuffed the paper into his bag. "No, it's not a joke. I thought it would be funny, to see if I could do it. Apparently I was wrong. I think I could still drop, probably." John laughed, hoping that Chris would see this as John was trying to portray it—as something that John had done in his senior year because he could and because he didn't really need to care about his GPA anyway, since he had a job waiting back at home for him with his dad. And it wasn't that far from the truth anyway; John had taken the course because he could and he'd argued his case to Hsu to be let in because he'd really and truly loved the intro astrophysics course in a cheesy, desperate sort of way, and now he was paying the price. Big time. And he could only hope that Chris would let him off the hook without more explanation.

Joining Psi U had been one of the battles in the long war with his father, the one that had lasted as long as John could remember, that didn't seem worth fighting, in the long run. Why not throw Dad a bone after the whole Stanford thing? It meant that his dad had paid for his trip to Europe last summer, anyway. He hadn't really felt completely comfortable for one minute since he'd gone through rush, even though the guys were fine, nice even. But they were exactly like the guys he'd gone to high school with in many ways, and they still only knew the tiny bit John let them see.

John turned his back, like he was heading back toward the stairs, when really he was worried that he'd lose it if he looked at Chris for one second longer than he had to. "You're a weird dude, Shep," Chris called at his back, and John turned around to see Chris reclining on the couch again, picking the textbook up off of the floor to drape it over his eyes. John smiled in spite of himself.

"Yeah, I know," he said, not sure Chris could hear, before climbing the stairs to his room.

* * *

John walked down the hallway in Varian, like he was walking the green mile or something. He'd spent most of his childhood (and adolescence, for that matter), having a bad attitude and trying to piss off his dad, but the truth was that he'd actually never been called to a teacher's office before. In fact, his father always seemed a bit stunned by the report cards Woodberry sent home, calling John on the phone to offer some stiff form of congratulations each trimester. He passed Professor Collins' door, who had taught the intro class last semester, the one that had made John feel almost like the skies were opening up above him during every class. He'd never gotten less than an A in any of his physics classes; while others were taking the easiest classes they could find to fill their schedule, John almost felt like he was trying to cram in all of the world-expanding knowledge he could, before he ended up pushing papers around his dad's office and looking the part for the rest of his life. Maybe that would be like Psi U or Woodberry to his dad, until he could come up with another Stanford and bolt.

Taking a deep breath, John lifted his hand and knocked on Hsu's door, keeping his feet planted on the ground to keep from running. The door flew open and the short, dark-haired man on the either side grinned almost maniacally. Oh man.

"Ah yes, Mr. Sheppard. I would say it was good to see you, but you know." He turned and headed behind his desk, and John took one deep, fortifying breath and sat down.

Hsu picked his glasses up off of the immaculate surface of his desk and glanced down at a book that was open in front of him. "I thought we had this conversation back at the beginning of the semester when you were begging to take this class."

"I know," John said, leaning forward a bit. "I got an A in Intro Astro and it's my last shot to take this class. I thought I could hack it."

Hsu snorted, and John had to grip the edge of his uncomfortable wooden chair. "Clearly, you were wrong. And if you like physics so much, why isn't it your major?"

"Have you met my dad?" John shot back, and then winced a bit. He hadn't meant to say that, but he figured it was no harm, no foul to share with his cranky physics professor. "Math was a stretch, trust me. He almost had a heart attack and ripped up the check when I told him that Stanford didn't offer an undergraduate business major."

"Well, Mr. Sheppard, adolescent rebellion aside, the add-drop period is over, and I'm assuming from this 4.0 average of yours that you would like to pass this class. Am I correct?" Hsu leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely. Whatever I need to do," John said, nodding eagerly and hoping for the mother of all Hail Marys to get him out of this one.

Hsu smiled, and yeah, that smile _was_ evil. "Good. I took the liberty of setting you up with a tutor. He's a third-year PhD student in Physics, but he's already got a doctorate in Engineering. You'll meet him tonight at 8pm."

Tonight was the third-biggest party of the year at the house, and he was supposed to tend bar. It sounded to someone not in the know like the worst job at a frat party, but it was actually his job to make sure that he cut people off before they did something irredeemably stupid. And then he didn't have to feel like he needed to join in. Goddamn. "Yeah, okay, what's his name?"

Dr. Hsu chuckled again, and said, "Rodney McKay."

* * *

"Shep!" Jamie yelled from in front of the fridge, tossing a can of beer at John that he barely caught before it hit the wall. "Ready for tonight?"

John sighed and dropped his bag on the floor. "Yeah, about that..." He popped open the can and took a long drink, because he was going to need it to get through that night.

"Come on, dude! You're tending bar, and you know that no one else is any good at it." Charlie said from the worn kitchen table, where he was sitting playing a version of poker with Kevin using checkers from some inexplicable place as poker chips. Kevin groaned loudly as Charlie spread a full house out in front of him.

"I have—" John hesitated, because he didn't really want to explain to the brothers that he was missing the third-biggest party of the year for _astrophysics tutoring_. "I have a date, for dinner, but I'll be back by 10 or so. Just get started without me." He leaned back what he thought was nonchalantly against the kitchen door frame and took another sip of his beer.

Jamie whistled and Charlie and Kevin paused their game to stare at him. "And you think you'll be home by ten? Sounds kind of lame," Kevin said skeptically, tilting his chair back and balancing carefully to keep from falling.

"Can't close the deal, huh, Shep?" Jamie smiled, crossing the room to elbow John in the ribs.

John could feel his face turning red, and he ducked his head. He told himself that it was okay, that frankly, he could add this lie to the list of fabrications and cover-ups and half-truths he'd told these guys over the last three years. They never picked up on why he always tended bar, flirted while he handed off drinks but never snuck off, and that he had never brought a girl back to the house the whole time he'd lived there. And he wasn't going to start filling them in now. He hadn't even dropped that particularly massive bomb on his dad, yet. "It's just coffee, low-key first date thing. Maybe next time."

The guys laughed, rolling their eyes and turning back to what they were doing. John tossed his empty can, which he found half-crushed in his fist, into the trash before heading upstairs to see if he could assimilate some more from the Advanced Astro text they were using in class before he had to meet this Rodney guy.

* * *

The library was near deserted (everyone was getting ready for the Psi U party and John couldn't help but feeling a bit of gratitude for that) when he showed up to meet Rodney in Lane. Hsu had described Rodney briefly to him, but John was picturing the stereotypical physics geek anyway—pocket protector and all. After looking around for a while, John spotted a guy with light brown hair hunched painfully over an open textbook at an empty table set away from the others.

"Rodney?" John wondered if he should repeat himself since the guy didn't even look up. Or maybe it wasn't even him.

Then, finally, a bleary, "Huh?"

"Are you Rodney?" John repeated, speaking slowly this time.

The guy blinked, blue eyes a bit red and watery. "Oh. Yes, sorry. I was—you must be John. Well, come on, sit down, I have about a million hours of research to do on my dissertation tonight."

John felt a bit like he had whiplash, but he smiled weakly, threw his bag on a chair and sat down. "Listen, thanks for this—" Rodney had already turned his head back to the book in front of him and he waved his hand dismissively at John.

Okay.

He wasn't sure what to do, so he retrieved his appalling test and his notebook from his bag. He was just about to clear his throat to remind Rodney that he was sitting there when Rodney slammed his book shut and placed his hands flat on top of it, looking right at John again. John felt sort of like he he'd been hit by a truck, or as much as you could be when someone was barely paying attention to you at all.

"All right, so, you tanked Hsu's first exam in 361, huh? I'm sure you're one of many."

"Yeah," John said shortly, crossing his arms, and cursing Hsu silently.

Rodney rolled his eyes in response. "Oh, come on. Hsu told me you aren't even a _major_. It's a wonder you got through Intro, honestly."

"I got an A in Intro, actually," John shot back, not sure why he was getting so angry.

"Well, aren't you just a genius then?" Rodney said, smiling, and John kind of wanted to punch him. "Okay, relax. Let me see your test, all right?"

John sighed, handing the paper over and cringing slightly at the big, red, horrible number scrawled across the top. Rodney snatched it from his hand and plunked it down on top of the textbook in front of him, contorting his spine yet again as he leaned over. John studied Rodney as he hummed and shook his head at John's wrong answers—he felt like he could almost _see_ Rodney's mind working as he jotted down notes in his own red pen next to John's sloppy equations. Rodney's hair was a bit too long, like he hadn't bothered to get a hair cut in a while, curling over his ears and above the collar of his green button-down shirt. The tips of his fingers were colored with ink and smudged with chalk, and there was a stray pen mark on the side of his neck. John was almost positive he'd never intentionally talked to a single guy like him in his entire life. He hung out with the guys who beat up guys like Rodney, and he always kind of stood by and didn't get involved.

"I see exactly what your problem is," Rodney said suddenly, lifting his head and pinning John with his gaze, _again_, and John almost jumped out of his seat. Rodney furrowed his brow. "Are you going to be okay?"

John rolled his eyes, just once, and nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. Show me." And at that Rodney grabbed John's notebook, his red pen descending on the paper, and John couldn't look away from the numbers, the equations spinning out bright and almost beautiful across the tattered page. Rodney's handwriting was even worse than John's and John had to squint to really see what was in front of him, but when he focused, it was like all the complete and utter nonsense that spilled out of Hsu's mouth in class suddenly knit together and started to make actual _sense_.

"Yeah, okay, I see," John said, almost breathless, scooting his chair over and leaning closer to Rodney, trying to keep up.

"And, here, you have the right idea: you just plugged the wrong variable into the equation." Rodney tugged on John's sleeve impatiently, pulling him closer to see what Rodney was writing. "You're not that far off, really..."

John started scrawling his own notes and numbers in his blue felt-tip pen next to Hsu's and Rodney's red, and Rodney was explaining out loud now as well, his voice low, pitched only for John to hear. By the time John stopped staring at Rodney's blunt fingers and the way his mouth moved when he talked faster than John though humanly possible, John's eyes were dry from forgetting to blink. He glanced at his watch.

"Shit."

Rodney looked up, startled. "What? Do you have someplace to be or something?" Rodney sounded almost put out.

He stared back at Rodney, and yes, he'd spent over an hour and half totally geeking out with him and that alone should make John comfortable telling, but John didn't want Rodney to think he was—well, that he was the stereotypical frat boy he at least pretended to be most of the time. He also wasn't sure why he cared, but he knew that Rodney was the first person in a long time that hadn't judged him on first sight, hadn't stuck him into some box and expected him to stay there. Rodney was there to help him with astrophysics and that was it.

"I have a party to go to," he said, realizing that that sounded about as bad as it could sound. _I have to cut off our tutoring to go a rager at my frat._ Nice.

"Hmph," Rodney said, withdrawing from where their heads had been huddled together over John's test and his textbook, which had come out at some point during their session; John couldn't exactly remember taking it out of his bag. "Fine, then."

Strangely, John wanted Rodney to understand what it was really like, how much he'd rather be exactly where he was then slinging drinks back at the house. "I'm not going to party, I just—it's a big deal at the house and—"

"Oh, at the _house_, huh?" Rodney rolled his eyes and started packing up his stuff. "I should have figured you were a frat boy, with all the, you know—" Rodney waved his hand in a way that was seemingly meant to encompass John's entire person.

John sat in his chair, stuck again watching Rodney, not wanting it to go down exactly like this and having not one iota of a clue _why_ he gave a shit. "I have to tend bar. I don't—I'd rather—"

"Spit it out."

"I'd rather not, but it's the third biggest party of the semester and I'm a senior and I can't really not show up, okay?"

Rodney had gotten up from his chair already, hair a mess and his bag slung over his shoulder, his hands on his hips. He was glaring at John and it almost _hurt_. "What's your deal?" he said sharply.

John felt a bit helpless, and clenched his teeth hard to keep from answering the question. His mouth did open though, and what came out surprised him as much as it looked like it surprised Rodney, from his gaping mouth: "Do you want to come?"

"You can't be serious," Rodney said, looking away after he recovered from his shock. John wasn't quite sure he'd recovered himself. "I have research to do tonight."

John squinted at him. "One night is really going to make such a big difference to your dissertation?"

"It could," Rodney said indignantly.

"It could be a good time. Drunk frat guys are always interesting, right?"

"No."

John laughed, but turned it into a cough when Rodney glared at him again. "Yeah, well, maybe you're right. But you could at least make fun of them."

Rodney took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay. Why the hell not? I'm sure I can get some extra lab time in on Sunday."

It was John's turn to look surprised. Finally, Rodney snapped his fingers and said, "Well, are we going or what?"

John shot up from his chair, confused and a bit freaked out, and shoved his papers and books back into his own bag. "Sure. Yeah, okay. Come on."

* * *

They could hear the party before they could even make out the lights of the Psi U house, and Rodney was huffing and complaining under his breath already. This had to be one of John's most monumentally bad ideas, and he'd once taken his dad's brand new BMW convertible out for a joyride, without express permission of course, and run into a tree at the end of their driveway.

"It's not so bad," John said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and checking out the time again. He was late. Only twenty minutes or so, but still.

"That's easy for you to say," Rodney said, voice harried, shaking his head, "you're one of _them_."

John turned back toward the approaching house and sighed. "Not really," he said softly, not even sure Rodney could hear him. He wasn't sure if he wanted him to or not.

He stealthily avoided being seen at the front door, which was teeming with people in various stages of intoxication, and shooed Rodney around back. Rodney almost tripped over an empty bottle on the ground and, without thinking, John shot his hand out to Rodney, to steady him. Rodney's arm was surprisingly substantial in John's grasp, hot through Rodney's soft cotton long-sleeved shirt. It felt good to make contact with someone else, to do something without all the goddamn pretense all the time, and he zoned out enough that Rodney cleared his throat and John pulled away, quickly, flushing with embarrassment.

"In here," John said quietly, leading Rodney through the back door and up the narrow staircase. The room he shared with Chris was at the top of the stairs and to the right, and once John had unlocked the door, the bass thumping through the floor from downstairs, Rodney looked a bit terrified.

"Listen," Rodney said, as John dropped his bag and stripped out of his button down shirt. Rodney's eyes tracked down John's bare chest and went almost imperceptibly wide, and John smiled, because it was kind of awesome to be able to make Rodney react like that. Rodney continued. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I haven't actually been to one of these before, and I'm not sure it's really my scene, frankly—I'm actually almost positive it isn't. I tend not to do very well in these kinds of social situations and I'm pretty sure I have something hardwired into my geek brain that tells me to stay away from places like these. For self-preservation."

John turned his back on Rodney's blabbering and pulled open one of his drawers, rummaging through the folded t-shirts to find the green one he was looking for. It was faded, with white writing, and it was too tight and a bit threadbare and girls always flirted even more when he wore it and Steve Kelly had kissed him for the first time, in his dorm room at Woodberry, while he was wearing it. He was feeling a little reckless, a little high on elegant equations and stellar dynamics and the feel of Rodney's biceps under his palm.

When he turned back around, Rodney was staring, and the look in his eyes was almost exactly like Steve's had been that night after the debate tournament, when he'd pinned John to the bed and pushed his hand up under the very t-shirt John was wearing at the moment. Maybe Rodney would kiss him, like Steve had, or maybe John could lean forward, just a bit—

He shook his head and smiled at Rodney, a fake smile that pulled at the sides of his mouth almost painfully. Rodney seemed to pull himself together too, and John let his smile fade a bit. He'd known Rodney for about two hours and fifteen minutes, and he'd gotten over ill-advised one night stands his sophomore year. He didn't know who Rodney was yet, other than brilliant and surprisingly adventurous and maybe, _maybe_, kind of interested.

"Don't worry, Rodney. It'll be fine—I promise I won't ditch you or throw you to the dogs or anything. Now, drop your bag." Rodney did so obediently, and John moved forward, just inside Rodney's personal space, pushing up the sleeves on his white cotton henley. As he reached up to push Rodney's slightly curly hair off of his forehead, he felt Rodney's fingers circle his wrist, stilling John's hand.

"What are you doing?" Rodney said, voice pitched low but with a bit of bite behind it. John froze, feeling the silky texture of Rodney's hair between his fingertips. Flushing a bit, he dropped his hand. "I'm twenty five years old, John—I think it's a bit late to figure out how I'm going to fit in at some frat party."

John nodded, thinking that he completely understood Rodney and didn't understand him at all, in that moment. In fact, Rodney seemed almost _dangerous_ right then, but the kind of dangerous that John had never been able to pass by, like hurtling at one-hundred and twenty miles an hour down Virginia country roads in his dad's car. "That's cool," John said, trying to sound casual, lifting his hands to tug at his own unruly hair. "You ready?"

Without warning, Rodney started laughing. "I think this may be the stupidest thing I've ever done, but yes, I'm ready."

Rodney stayed close by as they made their way downstairs, the music growing louder, past the rec room full of brothers and guests playing a highly competitive (and increasingly drunken) game of beer pong, wading through the thickening crowd. John sidled up to the bar, Rodney right behind him, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Shep!" Chris yelled over the music, clapping John on the back, hard. "Where the hell have you been, man? You said you'd be here."

Charlie smirked and handed John a beer. "He had a hot date, until 10."

John rolled his eyes and he could feel Rodney's glare on back of his neck, above his t-shirt. "Hey, not my fault it went well," he joked, holding his hands up in the air and grinning. "Hey, Chris, Charlie, this is Rodney." When he turned around, Rodney looked massively ill at ease and was picking at the unraveling hem of his shirt. "He's, um, my—the TA for one of my senior math seminars."

Chris smiled broadly and thrust his hand out at Rodney. "Welcome to Psi U, Rodney."

"Um," Rodney said, extending his hand reluctantly, thankfully, _thankfully_ biting his tongue about the TA thing. "Thanks?"

Charlie, on the other hand, didn't seem like he wasn't buying it, looking first at John, and then back at Rodney. "You're bringing your math TA to a party?"

John stepped in front of Rodney, almost for protection, but also because he could see that Rodney was about to say something and totally blow John's cover all to hell. "Oh, come on," John said, grin still plastered on, "Jamie's a Drama major and we still let him pledge. Since when do we judge?"

Charlie seemed to be considering what John was saying, and Chris, in typical form, stuck a red plastic cup of crappy beer in Rodney's hand and slapped him on the shoulder, making Rodney jump. "Let the guy have a good time, Charlie. Sheesh. Maybe you need a few more drinks to mellow out a bit." Charlie gave Chris the finger.

"Fuck you, Simpson. Whatever. Nice to meet you, Rodney. Have a good time." Charlie grabbed onto Chris's sleeve. "Let's go play beer pong."

And with that, John and Rodney were alone at the bar. Well, as alone as you could get with seventy-five of random people partying around you. "Well, that went well," Rodney said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why did you lie to them?"

John couldn't answer that question, couldn't start telling the story that started more than fifteen years before and still wasn't over. "It's complicated," he replied, sounding almost helpless, and he knew it was pathetic. "Do you want to help me out?"

"You want me to help you serve swill to a bunch of drunk undergrads?"

"That's the idea, yeah."

Rodney paused, looking John up and down again, making John squirm, then rolled his eyes and walked around behind the bar. "Oh, what the hell. It's not like this evening could get any weirder, right?" And with that, he took a long sip of his beer, winced, and slammed the cup on the counter.

* * *

John and Rodney stayed behind the bar until about two in the morning. John drew beers from the tap and handed them out, flirting and smiling and having a surprisingly good time, for once. Usually, this kind of shit was his least favorite thing about being in Psi U. He hated everything about it, especially when some KAT sister inevitably tried to get him to abandon his post. He'd play along and rest his hand on their arms, making them blush, but he never left with any one of them.

This time, though, it was a whole different ball game. John got into something of a trance, smile plastered on, pulling beer after beer from the keg and handing them out as people drifted toward the bar in wave after wave. Every once and while, he tuned in to Rodney next to him, struggling with the tap like he'd never done this before, because he hadn't. Rodney cursed at the keg and went too slow and John caught him saying things like, "Yes, I'm sure that you need a fourteenth beer right this second," and, "If you puke on me, I will blow you up. I know how to build a nuclear bomb," and, "That's nice. I'm sure you're very interested in both of me that you're seeing right now." When John noticed that the crowd was starting to thin out, just the last few stragglers remaining, he glanced at Rodney and saw the exhaustion around his eyes, his sluggish movements.

John put the cup in his hand down. "Hey, let's close up shop."

Rodney nodded and John led him back upstairs to John's room. "Listen, thanks. That was actually fun for once," John said, grabbing Rodney's bag from the floor next to John's bed and handing it over. "You didn't have to come here, seeing as you just met me and I know it's not exactly your scene, so, thanks."

"Isn't this supposed to be _your_ scene?" Rodney said, shrugging his bag over his shoulders and running his fingers through his hair, which was slightly damp with sweat and curling even more at the untidy ends.

John shrugged.

"You think that's an actual answer to someone's question, don't you?"

"I don't know what you want me to say." John turned around and faced his bed, kicking off his worn sneakers, little more violently than usual. He couldn't look at Rodney. He'd already said more than he meant to.

"How about the truth, John? There seemed to be a shortage of that tonight." Rodney's voice was soft but unyielding.

John stood there, taking deep breaths, trying to figure out why everything felt so _heavy_ all of a sudden, when he'd spent the last few hours feeling lighter than he had in a while. He had only met Rodney that night and he didn't know anything about John. Nothing.

"We still on for Tuesday? 8pm in Lane?"

Rodney sighed heavily. "Sure, whatever. See you then." John waited, back still turned, until he heard the door click shut, the music still pumping out of the speakers below them, before he let out the breath he was holding.

* * *

Tuesday came fast. John had spent all weekend, after a perfunctory pass over the rest of his (much easier) homework, with his nose buried in his Advanced Astro textbook. For the first time since the semester started, some of what he was reading—the numbers, the concepts, made sense to him. He looked between his book and Rodney's red equations all over his epic failure of a test, letting the memory of Rodney's voice explaining it all to him, pulling it together in ways that John hadn't seen before, push him along.

John showed up at Lane that Tuesday fifteen minutes early, taking his things out of his bag and arranging them on the table, feeling unaccountably nervous. He really liked Rodney—he'd liked him almost instantly despite him being distracted and a bit prickly and intense and nosy. Things were weird when Rodney left the house on Friday though, and Charlie had been eyeing him suspiciously since then. Chris, on the other hand, had seen John the next afternoon after emerging from bed around 2pm and said, "Hey, that dorky math guy was kind of good with the beer, huh?"

He'd driven his car to the library tonight—the new Porsche that his father had bought him for his twenty-first birthday. There was a part of him that had been appalled when he'd gone home before the start of his junior year, after finishing the summer session at Yale, and his dad had presented him with the car in the overly formal way he seemed to do everything. The car was a status symbol that John didn't really feel like he needed to flaunt, so that everyone knew how much money his dad made. In the end, he took the keys with a curt "thanks" and rolled his eyes when his dad turned his back on John. He figured it was yet another thing on the list of things that weren't worth fighting about, since in some twisted way his dad was trying to be _nice_. And besides, he kind of _loved_ the hell out of the car. Sometimes, when he couldn't stand his life anymore, he went ninety up the 101 north of the city, taking the tight curves on Route 1 in Marin fast enough to make his heart race, all the way to Stinson Beach

Rodney trudged in around 8:10, looking more at his feet than at John as he approached the table. "Hey," John said, smiling almost despite himself. Rodney looked exactly like John remembered him, absent the spilled beer on his t-shirt.

"Hello." Rodney sat down next to John, still avoiding his eyes a bit. "Did you rework those problems from the test?"

John's eyes caught on the smooth skin of Rodney's neck and when he realized he was staring and thinking about _touching_, he shook his head and slid his notebook over to Rodney. Rodney looked at John, then looked away immediately, casting his eyes down to the paper. John didn't want things to be weird after last night, even though, after Rodney had left, John couldn't stop thinking about the fact that he'd never let anyone in on the bullshit that was John's life before then. He'd never let someone catch him in a lie, and no one else had been so unwilling to go along. John was terrified that it _didn't_ scare him as much as it should. The idea of dismantling for anyone what he'd spent years building. It was almost a relief, instead.

"Listen, Rodney, I'm sorry about last night."

Rodney lifted his head up, and maybe he'd just forgotten that he was avoiding John, because there was that gaze again, the one that pinned John like a butterfly against piece of poster board in a fifth-grade science project. Rodney sighed. "It's fine. I shouldn't have gone to the party in the first place."

"No!" John surprised himself with the force behind that. "It's not fine. I shouldn't have lied to you."

"Don't worry about it," Rodney said, still looking at John, like he had it all figured out. Rodney was scary smart and while he didn't seem like the most socially talented guy, he was doing perfectly fine figuring out John. "Now, are you ready to work, or not?"

John nodded, and entered the vortex that seemed to happen when they did this, heads down, John's brain bouncing off of Rodney's like a wayward rubber ball.

When they were done, Rodney wandered out of Lane with John, and John flushed with embarrassment when he realized that he had his _car_ and that they were standing right next to it. "Um," John said, the lie not tripping off his tongue as easily as it usually did, so the truth came out instead, "this is my car?"

Instead of any of the myriad reactions that Rodney could have had, starting with scorn and ending with taunting, Rodney started to laugh. "Seriously? This is your car?"

"Yeah. It's—my dad—I know it's—"

"Settle down, John. How about you drive me to my apartment? It's late. And on the way you can tell me what your dad does that he can give his twenty-one year old son a $60,000 car."

And, despite the loud, incessant warning bells going off in John's head, he did both of those things.

* * *

Rodney kept tutoring John throughout the semester, a couple or three times a week, and John couldn't even be that annoyed by the "I guess Rodney's working miracles" note jotted on his midterm, because he'd gotten a 91. Rodney, predictably, was furious that he'd missed those nine points and grilled John mercilessly. "Come on, Sheppard, you're smarter than that," Rodney scolded when John showed him the test. John couldn't help but feel proud, because that comment from Rodney was as close to a compliment on his intelligence as he was ever likely to get.

It turned out that Rodney knew the best place to get coffee near campus, and they often drifted there after they left Lane, either in John's ridiculous (and _awesome_) car or with John trying to keep up with Rodney's frantic walking pace. They would stay and drink coffee and eat pastries and John had never in his life put to words some of the things he told Rodney, almost by accident.

  


He knew it was crazy—he'd met Rodney, who was prickly and over-caffeinated and superior, only a few weeks before, and it wasn't like he was a gentle and kind person, most of the time. There was no reason for John to feel like Rodney was different than any other person, but Rodney had a way of seeing right through every single protective layer of John's bullshit and asking him such pointed questions that John answered them often before he fully realized what he was doing. Normally, he never said anything or revealed a single detail without considering what the person asking him would think. With Rodney, John found that he didn't have to worry about what he thought, because Rodney already had John's number with the astrophysics thing. He was the only person in the world, besides a couple of faculty members (who didn't really count), who knew that John not only loved physics, but that he was good at it, especially when he had someone like Rodney to push some of the pieces into place. It was only a matter of time before John's well-fortified walls began to crumble, piece by piece.

It was a Wednesday night, late; they were the only people left at Peet's, sitting at their usual table in the corner by the window, when Rodney asked John about why he tried to piss off his dad so much. "I told you, he's a dick. Not much else to it."

"Yes, well, my dad was mostly an asshole too, but I didn't go out of my way to antagonize him." Rodney took a sip of his black coffee and stared at John—he wasn't letting John off the hook easily.

"I don't antagonize him on purpose," John muttered, the untruthful words feeling completely wrong on his lips. "It's just—it's complicated."

"What did he do to you to piss you off so much?" Rodney said softly, leaning closer. They were close enough that John could feel Rodney's breath against his own mouth. This was dangerous, in at least a dozen distinct ways.

The thing was, John wasn't sure he even knew what it was about anymore. He'd been doing it for almost fifteen years at this point, and it was easy to get lost in the activity and forget what its source was. He could remember, though, when he was eight and his mom was sick—so sick she hadn't left her bed in weeks. John might have been a kid but he could tell that she wasn't going to the hospital anymore and she looked so tired and everyone was whispering. He hadn't wanted to go to school, but his dad made him, everyday, had the driver put John and Dave in the car and take them. Then, on one absolutely gorgeous Virginia fall day, a Thursday, John had arrived home and run upstairs to tell his mom, who seemed to listen less and less, about his day, but when he got to her room, she was gone. Her bed was perfectly made, fresh coverlet, the window open and curtain moving with the soft breeze. It was like she'd never been there, and John knew, he _knew_ why. His mom dying was horrible, still ranked up there as maybe the worst thing that had ever happened to him, all of these years later, but it was almost worse when six weeks later, his dad brought _her_ to dinner at their house. It was like a slap in the face, and John couldn't forgive him for it.

The wounds were still rubbed raw and open inside him, after all this time; he _wanted_ to be well-adjusted and happy. He wanted to able to say that he'd been rebellious and stupid, but the truth was, he never felt bad about any of it. And he felt like, while he'd told Rodney some things he'd never told anyone else, that this was too much, too big. "I can't—" John said, voice barely a whisper. "Sorry." John grabbed his things off the table, watching his pen drop to the floor, but he just left it there and shoved the rest of his papers and books into his bag. He had to go. He couldn't go fast enough.

"John, don't. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I only—"

John didn't know what Rodney said after that, because John was out of there. Out of the coffee shop, into the cool early November air, not thinking, concentrating only on moving his feet. He could hear how fast his own breath was coming. Then he realized, just as he got to the sidewalk, that he'd driven Rodney there and it was midnight. He couldn't leave.

John took a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart, his racing head. He stayed out there for a few minutes, leaning against the outside of the building, watching the cars drive by outside. He'd been living like this long enough to know what being scared felt like, and yet this wasn't like any of that. Rodney hadn't wanted to know so that he could hurt John or laugh at him or pigeon hole him as the bratty rich boy. He'd wanted to know _John_, and John knew that if he could keep from running, he might finally be free.

  


A few minutes later, John felt someone lean against the wall next to him, a little too close, enough to feel their warmth. "Done freaking out?" Rodney said, his gentle tone in contrast to his words, bumping their shoulders together. "Because I'd like to go home sometime tonight."

"Yeah, yeah," John said, mock annoyed, but he was smiling anyway. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

John shrugged on his Stanford hoodie, purchased right before heading home for Christmas his freshman year, over the long-sleeved black shirt he was already wearing. It was an unseasonably cool morning for northern California and John had already seen a few of the brothers leave the house in winter coats. Finals had approached quickly, and, almost poetically, John had finished every last exam and paper and now, on the next to last day of exams, he was going to sit for his Stellar and Galactic Astrophysics final.

  


He'd stayed up until about three in the morning the night before with Rodney, who had drilled him on every single tiny thing they'd worked on all semester, even though John hadn't gotten less than an A since that first test and Rodney had been giving John some problem sets from Rodney's own classes for a few weeks now. Sometimes they even blew off physics all together and worked on John's math homework. The final was half of the grade for the class, and if he could score in the high 90s, he'd keep his 4.0. Which still didn't matter in the long run, but John wanted to show Hsu—and Rodney—that he could do it.

That, and he'd already signed up for Advanced Extragalactic Astrophysics and Cosmology next semester. With Hsu again.

The walk to Varian was longer than John remembered it ever being before. Finally he made his way into the room, with several dozen other students who didn't know John at all. He saw the way they looked at him in every class, like they knew that he was leading almost a double life—astrophysics by day, frat boy by night. The thing was, he wasn't sure anymore where he belonged, which thing trumped the other. If he could belong in both places even if he wanted to.

"All right, everyone, quiet down," Hsu said from the front of the room, a big stack of papers cradled in his arm. A hush came over the room and everyone took a seat. "I'm passing your exams around now. It's 8:35, and you all have until 11:30 to complete the exam. As soon as you get yours, you can start. Good luck."

Once the exams made their way around the rows, John got the stack of papers from the girl beside him, taking his copy and passing it along. When he opened it, he uncapped his pen deliberately and felt almost a sense of peace come over him. Last night, as Rodney quizzed him, making sure John knew every single theory backwards and forwards, he'd almost cracked. He'd almost started believing he _couldn't_ do this, that he was really the guy that everyone in the room probably thought he was. He remembered Rodney's hand on his shoulder, the steel in his voice. "Get a grip. You can take this exam in your sleep and ace it. You _get_ this stuff, John. You're _good_ at it. And you know how much it kills me to admit that, so don't make me say it again."

Those words ran through his head as he approached each problem, feeling worlds away from how he did at the end of September, fumbling and confused and convinced he'd finally hit his own personal academic wall. Now, everything made sense, and he was hungry, _greedy_ for more. When he was done, he checked back over his answers and then walked to the front of the room, most of the class still engrossed in their own exams in front of them.

"Here you go, Professor," John said, with a hint of a smile. Hsu looked a bit surprised. A bit skeptical, too. "See you in January."

Hsu tucked John's exam under a folder on the desk and nodded at John. "Have a good break, Mr. Sheppard."

* * *

Exam grades weren't released for another week, and everyone would be long gone on winter break by then. Even still, John was so sure that he'd done what he needed to do on that exam, that he had truly figured it out, and he'd already freaked out a couple of the brothers who were still studying for exams down in the living and dining rooms at the house with his ridiculous smile.

"Stop smiling, Shep, it's finals," Chris shouted at him when John was making a turkey sandwich in a kitchen. "You are hurting my _soul_."

"It's not my fault you didn't pick up a book this semester," John retorted, but he couldn't even put any bite behind it. The only thing getting him down was having to see his dad in a couple of days, but there was also going to be skiing, so he couldn't bitch all that much.

He hadn't made any concrete plans to see Rodney, since there were technically done, but John caved that later that afternoon and called him. "Hello?" Rodney said, managing to sound irritated before John even had a chance to say anything.

"Hey, Rodney." John leaned back in his desk chair, smiling and knowing that his nonchalant tone was going to drive Rodney up the wall.

"So?" Rodney said impatiently.

"Come over. I'll tell you about it and you can take me to Peet's."

"Did you remember what I told you about baryogenesis? Please tell me that you didn't screw that up. And shouldn't you be taking _me_ to Peet's? Since I'm the one responsible for your success and only one of us is a poor, starving graduate student."

"I'm in my room. See you in a few."

"John, what the—"

John hung up. Mostly because he loved to watch Rodney build up a head of steam, and he was going to have the whole fifteen minute walk to Psi U from his apartment to stew. John picked up his headphones from the desk and slipped them on.

Twenty minutes later, his door flew open and there was Rodney, cheeks red from the cold, panting. "Well?" Rodney said, closing the door behind him and plopping down on John's bed. "How'd it go?"

"Didn't feel like knocking, huh?"

"You are deliberately trying to make me mad, and I'm not falling for it. Spill. Now."

John turned around in his chair and faced Rodney, feeling his smile spread across his face. "I aced it."

"I knew it!" Rodney crowed, smiling and looking like _he_ was the one who'd just nailed his final, and John couldn't help but feel that sense of pride, something he'd never felt from anyone else before, deep down in his bones.

John leaned forward some more, and maybe it was an adrenaline rush, altogether different than surfing or skiing or lying or driving his car too fast, but he didn't feel very careful at that moment. "Listen, Rodney, thanks. I couldn't have done it without you."

Rodney blushed and leaned in too. "Well, naturally, you're right, but you certainly were up for the task. Hsu must be _thrilled_ you're going to be back next semester, eh?"

"Over the moon, I'm sure," John said distractedly, because Rodney's mouth was right _there_. He'd sidestepped this all semester, feeling like he had to sit on his hands every time Rodney was near him, so he wouldn't reach out and touch. John hadn't been with anyone in over a year, tired of one night stands but too scared for anything more serious, and not caring enough to bother with the lies it would take to do it. Rodney was the worst-case scenario in almost every way. He knew John better than anyone, and it had happened without John even really realizing the full extent of it. Getting involved with someone like that was so stupid that even John knew he should stay away. But maybe it was the fact that he could still see galaxies—hell, the whole goddamn universe—behind his eyes and he wanted, he _wanted_.

Rodney's breath smelled like coffee as John leaned closer, the wheels on his desk chair squeaking as he rolled toward Rodney to brace his hands on the bed next to Rodney's thighs. "John," Rodney said, voice shaky, "what are you doing?"

"Telling the truth." John pulled himself out of his chair, listening to Rodney's breath quicken as John straddled his lap. Just the contact, Rodney's warm, solid body beneath his, was enough to make John almost dizzy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this close to someone else, in any way, and it was thrilling and amazing and horrifying all at once. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted—" Rodney started, but John didn't want to talk anymore. He'd been _talking_ to Rodney for months now, huddled close together late at night in Lane, Rodney helping him reach everything that John could barely touch with the tips of his fingers before, staying even later over coffee. He was thoroughly done with talking, with thinking, and ready to _do_ something, for the first time in a long time. John pressed his lips against Rodney's, firm and gentle and so unbelievably hot that while the contact alone had made him dizzy, this was making his heart try to break out of his chest. He brought his hands around to cradle Rodney's head, his fingers stroking the soft curls at the nape of Rodney's neck. Rodney's tongue swiped across John's lips, his hands on John's hips; John groaned and let him in.

John was aware of his own arousal pressed between them, aware of Rodney's pressed up against his ass, but the kiss was too perfect, too much on its own for John to think much past the slide of their lips together. The way Rodney stopped hesitating and wound his tongue around John's, the soft sounds Rodney made in the back of his throat as they moved together, Rdoney'sRodney's hands firm on him, Rodney's hips coming off the bed almost imperceptibly as they kissed.

Finally, when it got too hard to breathe, Rodney pulled away, both of them gasping. "Come on, just—" Rodney gritted out, his voice different, lower, than John had ever heard it. John wanted to push their mouths together again, because he was sure that one of them would say something that would screw this all up if given the chance. Instead, he got distracted from what Rodney was saying by Rodney's mouth, his lips puffy and red from kissing John for god knew how long. "Please," Rodney said, almost begging, and John ground down onto Rodney's dick.

"What?" John whispered playfully into Rodney's ear. "Did you need something?"

"Shut up, you're ruining it," Rodney said, groaning out the last couple of words as John moved them together again. John laughed, and he couldn't remember if he'd ever done that with anyone else.

John watched as Rodney's eyes rolled back in his head. "It seems to me like I'm doing just fine."

"You've been driving me crazy for weeks now, please—come on—" Rodney grabbed John's hips harder and John kissed him again.

They stopped kissing, but they didn't speak either, mouths close enough to share breath, until John's orgasm hit him, the sound rushing in John's ears like a sonic boom and surprising the hell out of him; he'd been so focused on the feel of Rodney's hard cock rubbing against him, over and over. John could vividly remember the last time he'd come in his pants—he'd actually been a teenager then, sixteen and making out with James Peters. This was absolutely nothing like that in any number of ways, mostly due to the fact that while John had been desperate for James to leave that night, he was already thinking about what he and Rodney would do the next time. And the time after that.

Rodney's shoulders were broad and strong and John held on to them, riding out the rest of his orgasm with his eyes closed. He could feel himself sticky inside his jeans but he couldn't be bothered to give a shit, because he came down from his own high and clued into the fact that Rodney was really, really close. "Jesus," Rodney gasped, as he rocked, and John moved with him, letting Rodney take what he wanted, what he needed. "That was incredible."

"You thought me coming in my pants like a teenager was hot?" John could feel Rodney clutch him tighter, and John leaned over to run his tongue along the shell of Rodney's ear.

"You're close enough—to a—teenager now—anyway." Rodney could barely breathe, he was so on the edge.

"That's disgusting, Rodney," John said, moving and hearing Rodney's breath catch again, before leaning in to whisper in Rodney's ear. "Now come for me already, you dirty old man."

Rodney let out a heartfelt groan and John wrapped his arms around Rodney, holding him tightly as he cried out. John could _feel_ him coming, Rodney's body shaking. John spared a brief thought for whether or not anyone else could hear them, before he was kissing Rodney, bodies pressed together. John didn't want to move.

"You know," Rodney said a few minutes later, after John had shifted and found a more comfortable position for them to stay in for a while. "I'm still not letting you off the hook."

"For what?" John yawned and buried his face in Rodney's neck.

Rodney sighed. "For telling me about your dad."

John knew he should get up and run right that second, but he'd already done that and it hadn't seemed to get him anywhere. Anywhere he turned, there was Rodney, annoying and smart and always there whenever John needed him, or when he really didn't think he did at all. Instead, he placed a careful kiss to the spot just below Rodney's ear, feeling Rodney shiver against him. "Yeah, I know." And he thought that maybe that might be okay.

John was about to shift off of Rodney's lap, to pull Rodney down on the bed next to him and keep this going for a while longer, when he heard a key turn in the door. He had about one second to panic, to know exactly who was going to walk through the door before it swung open and he saw Rodney's mouth drop open. John didn't even need to turn around.

"Fuck!" Chris bellowed from the doorway. "Shep? What the hell?"

John scrambled up from Rodney's lap, planting his feet on the floor in front of Rodney, shielding him. "Jesus, Chris. Calm down." John himself felt anything but calm. He felt like the whole tapestry of his life that he'd spent years weaving together was unraveling at his feet.

"Calm down?" Chris said, lowering his voice a bit but still mostly freaking out. "Is that your _math TA_?"

"John," Rodney said, also speaking in a matching calm tone that John had never heard Rodney use. "I think I should go."

"No!" John said, knowing that it was a good idea but not wanting things to end like this, not when John had a plane to catch the next day. "It's not—he's not my math TA—"

"It's okay." Rodney stood up and wiped his hands against the front of his pants, which were starting to look very uncomfortable. His hair was a mess where John's fingers had been tangled in it, and his face was bright red, lips still swollen. John wanted nothing more than to shove Chris out, barricade the door, and bring Rodney back to his bed. Instead, he stood there, frozen, while Rodney made his way out, past a fuming Chris. "Talk to you later," Rodney said, and then he was gone.

Goddamn it. John was fucking this up—this big, bright thing that he knew was more than he deserved; he knew it, and he couldn't even stop himself. And then there was Chris, who was looking for some answers, and John wasn't sure he wasn't going to give them. "Chris, listen, I'm sorry," John started, sitting down on his bed carefully, knowing that he looked like he'd been doing exactly what he had been. Chris was a slacker and a party animal and a pain in the ass, but he was John's roommate and his best friend at Stanford. He knew that sorry wouldn't cut it, not this time.

"I'm confused," Chris said, suddenly deflating, sitting down on his own bed across from John's. "What is going on with you?"

"What do you mean?"

Chris took a deep breath, planting his legs far apart and leaning forward to look at John. "I mean, why didn't you just tell me? About Rodney? About _guys_, for Christ's sake?"

"I didn't know if you would be okay with it. I thought you wouldn't, actually."

Chris snorted. "Well shit, John, I know that I'm in a frat, but I'm not a complete neanderthal. And it would have been better to know than to have you lie to me for three years." Chris paused. "And what did you mean, he isn't your TA?"

John pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, staring at his bare toes. "He's my physics tutor. I'm a physics minor—I didn't only take that course for kicks."

"Huh," Chris said. "I guess I didn't ever think that I'd end up roommates with a filthy rich gay physics dork, but it keeps life interesting, huh?"

"Oh, and," John said, figuring he should go big or go home, "I only joined Psi U to get my dad off my back."

John looked up tentatively, and saw that Chris was grinning; it was so unexpected that John started laughing. Chris joined him, and soon enough they were both rolling around on their beds laughing so hard that John's sides hurt, and they were both taking huge, gulping breaths. John could hear pounding on their door and Jamie yelling, "Shut the fuck up, assholes!" out in the hallway.

For a moment, John thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do this and it would still be okay. He could have something real and be real for once in his life. Then he remembered Rodney's face as he left and he felt it all settle at the pit of his stomach again, hard and heavy and unyielding.

* * *

The Sheppard family owned an absolutely ridiculous house on the ski slopes in Aspen, overlooking the whole breathtaking Roaring Fork Valley and the towering Elk Mountains, which sat empty for about ten months of the year. They had been spending Christmas there since before John could remember, first with his mom and dad, then, after Dave was born, all four of them. They'd even come out here a couple of months after his mom died, John angry about pretty much everything, especially Caroline. Dave was only four at the time and still didn't really understand, still calling out for mommy sometimes when he forgot. His dad had spent most of that trip in his room on the phone, and John had spent most of it in his own room, avoiding everything.

Since then, each trip, with Caroline in tow, had been awful. John and Dave sniped at each other with increasing bite, the deep chasm between them growing larger with time. Each Christmas featured at least one major blowout about something with his dad. Last year it had been about Stanford all over again, and whether John could get into the Harvard MBA program or whether he should come back and work for his dad for a while. John had not-so-politely informed his dad that he had no real interest in either of those things, and then he'd pulled a real grown up move and stormed out, hitting the slopes for hours and dreading when he would finally get too cold to stay out.

John was flying there from San Jose and meeting them all on Christmas Eve. He was looking forward to the few days of solitude, after the past semester, after everything that went down in the last couple of days. He was connecting through Denver, and called Rodney from a pay phone there, letting it ring until Rodney's answering machine picked up. "This is Rodney McKay. In case you're too stupid to understand how an answering machine operates, you need to tell me who you are, why you're calling, and how I can reach you. Otherwise you're out of luck. Goodbye." John grinned through the beep.

"Hey, Rodney, it's, um—it's me. Listen, I'm on my way to see my family for the holidays, but I wanted to say that I hope you have a Merry Christmas and that I'll be back on the fourth. We should talk. I, um—I'll see you then, okay? Okay." John hung up, groaning and slamming the receiver down a few extra times for good measure. He really, really _sucked_ at this. He couldn't stand the idea of Rodney being mad at him and having to see his family all at the same time.

The flight to Aspen sucked, as usual, turbulent and horrible, but John stayed almost pressed up against the window the whole time, watching the mountains come closer and more into focus.

The house was the same as ever when the driver dropped John off at the door, lights already ablaze in welcome. John took a deep breath and let it out before heading inside. He didn't even stop to use the bathroom before he was stepping into his boots in the foyer and heading out onto the slopes.

It was snowing lightly outside, near dusk and quiet, the literal calm before the storm outside and inside, and John turned his face up and let the flakes hit him and melt slowly, looking down onto the lights of town below. He pushed off with one ski, feeling the snow fly in front of him, the sharp, cold wind biting his face and his ears and making him almost numb. He ran the black diamond hills until it was coming down so hard he couldn't even see six inches in front of him, and then he dragged himself back into the house, soaked and exhausted and starving.

John fell asleep on the couch in front of the big screen TV, watching old Star Trek TOS reruns and woke up the next morning, gorgeous mountain sunshine streaming in the picture windows, to the sound of the phone ringing. "Damn it," he muttered, pushing himself up from the couch and running to the kitchen to grab the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, John."

John's stomach dropped. He'd kind of hoped it was Rodney, even though he'd completely neglected to give Rodney the house number when he left the message for him. And his dad was probably dead last on his list of people he wanted to talk to. "Dad," he replied evenly.

"How is the house? Is the snow any good this year?"

"The house is fine, and it just snowed this evening, so it's great, actually." The complete banality of the conversation was painful, but John gripped the receiver harder and kept his mouth shut.

"Good, good," his dad said, already sounding distracted. "Dave got word a few days ago that he was accepted to Harvard. Early decision."

"Great," John said dully, imagining the proud smile on his dad's face when Dave had called from Andover to share the good news. At least he had one son who was following the script, to the letter.

"Listen, John, Dave was invited to spend the holiday with a friend in St. Bart's, so he won't be coming out."

One less fight to have, John figured. "Oh. Well, okay."

"And Caroline came down with some kind of flu yesterday, and she feels awful. I think it's best if we stay home this year."

John closed his eyes. Not like he needed anything else, but it was one more thing to add to his list of reasons why he couldn't stand his father. They'd spent twenty two Christmases of John's life there, no matter how shitty it was, and his dad was acting like it was no big deal to leave John alone for Christmas, to break that tradition that was still a tradition even when it hurt. "I see."

And it was fine anyway. He didn't know why he was letting it get him upset. It would be good to have the week and a half to do whatever he wanted and maybe have some actual peace in this place for once. "You'll be okay, then?" his dad said, his normal commanding tone gone. He sounded almost like he was _worried_.

_Like you give a shit. Like you ever have._, he wanted to say, but what was the point anymore? "I'm fine, Dad. I'm always fine."

There was a pause, and John thought he heard his dad sigh. "Okay, well, have a good Christmas."

"Yeah, you too," John said softly. Then, he put the receiver down, severing the connection before his dad could say anything else.

He spent the rest of the day on the slopes, finding the hardest runs and doing them again and again, his skis cutting up the hills as he descended, only stopping long enough to take the chair lift back up to the top. The wind rushing in his ears made it hard to even think and he was absurdly grateful for that fact.

That night, after going into town for dinner and then coming back to some beer and the couch again, John made himself get up and pick up the phone.

"Hello?" Rodney's voice sounded far away, and John pressed the receiver closer to his ear.

"Hey, Rodney," John said softly, listening to Rodney breathe into the phone. When Rodney didn't say anything else, John continued. "Sorry I didn't call sooner."

"It's fine," Rodney said, clipped and short and guarded, and everything that had disappeared from Rodney's voice when they were with each other weeks before. It hurt like a punch to the gut to hear it again.

"No, I don't think it is, actually. I was an ass, and I lied to everyone, and I'm really, really tired of it."

Rodney didn't answer right away. John wound the cord around his hand and waited. "You really are a disaster, aren't you?"

John laughed, feeling the heaviness start to seep out of his bones. "Yeah, I am. You should run away now if you're smart."

"Well, I know I'm a genius, but I think I'd rather be stupid in this case, if it's all the same to you." Rodney sounded tentative, and John wanted that moment, right before they kissed in his room, before everything went sideways, back. He wanted to grab Rodney and tell him that John wasn't scared any more, and that he didn't want Rodney to be either.

"Sounds good to me," John replied, pressing his hand up against the flawlessly painted kitchen wall. "So, did I mention my dad called today and bailed on me for Christmas?"

"What?" Rodney said, incredulous, and John found himself talking, like it had always been with Rodney, and Rodney talked too, about deciding not to see his sister in Vancouver because it was the first Christmas since his parents had both been gone, and he didn't want to pretend that he was sad.

Three hours later, John found himself in bed, having switched phones an hour ago, saying goodnight to Rodney and falling asleep against the backdrop of the full moon and the falling snow outside.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" Rodney was propped up against the wall behind John's bed, his legs stretched out along the length of the mattress and a haphazard pile of papers full of data for his dissertation research on his lap. Chris had started giving them a wide berth, saying hi to Rodney, completely and totally _not_ freaked out, and then promptly bolting to go fuck around downstairs whenever Rodney showed up.

John was at his desk, back to Rodney, working furiously on the problem set for Cosmology that week, and a couple of extra problems that Rodney had thrown his way. It was early March, and he'd already gotten an A on the first exam. "Sure."

"What are you going to do after graduation?"

If John had know that _that_ was the question, he might have said no. He hadn't spoken to his dad at all since the whole Aspen debacle, and the closer graduation drew, the more and more John felt like he wasn't sure. "Well, I'm supposed to go back to Virginia and take my rightful place at the family company. I'm the heir apparent."

Rodney pushed the papers onto the bed beside him and sat up a bit, turning toward John, his brow creased with anger. "Seriously? Why would you do that?"

John shrugged. "Because I'm supposed to. It's not like I have any other pressing plans, either."

Rodney looked at him, shaking his head. "Come here."

"Rodney, I have homework to do."

"John, come _here_."

Dropping his pen, perhaps a little dramatically, John pushed his chair around and rolled it toward the bed. "What do you want, Rodney?"

"I want you to tell me one thing that your father has ever done for you."

John's head was suddenly filled with images in full technicolor—hopping on planes across Europe, the rolling green hills of Woodberry Forest, the palatial estate in Virginia, the one in Aspen, the one in the south of France, the stupid fucking car, the check his dad sat at his desk and grudgingly wrote for Stanford while John stood there and tried not to laugh—and he realized that his father had given him _everything_. John had money in his bank account every time he wanted it, for whatever he wanted, and he never had to take out student loans or work a single day in his life. And still, John knew the answer to Rodney's question like he knew that the average distance from the earth to the sun was ninety three million miles.

"I can't."

Rodney scooted forward and took John's hand. "So don't do it."

"That'll be it. He'll cut me off this time, for sure. I know it."

"You're worried about the money? So what? Hell, I'll be rolling in it once I can finish this degree and take one of those lucrative government contracts or private research jobs, but I've been pulling in peanuts for six years and I'm fine. I made $15,000 this past year and my W-2 arriving actually made me _giddy_ because I couldn't remember ever making that much in my whole life." Rodney wrapped his hand around John's wrist and tugged him closer, until John's knees bumped against the side of the mattress. "It's just money. You of all people should know how little that matters."

John leaned forward, his forehead against Rodney's warm, broad chest, Rodney's chin settling on the top of his head. The idea that Rodney had put out there, dangled in front of him like it was that easy, was at once so simple and so huge that John couldn't even face it. He really had no interest in doing something to make his dad happy. He'd structured his whole life since the age of eight to achieve the exact opposite. He'd rubbed everything important to his dad back in his face, in part because he was angry, and in part because he didn't want any part of it. And yet, John had always assumed, and so had his dad, that John would simply come back into the fold—he would grow up and come home and do what he was supposed to do.

John wished he could say that he was only thinking of doing it because it was what was expected of him. The truth—that he was scared shitless—was much harder to get past.

"What the hell else am I going to do, then?" John said, voice half-muffled by Rodney's t-shirt.

Rodney's hand came up to cup the back of John's neck, his thumb stroking over the tendons there, drifting up into John's hair. "Have you thought about grad school? I mean, you're not a total idiot and I'm sure that the physics department would be willing to take you. It's too late for this year but you could hang around and apply for next fall."

John lifted his head and Rodney lifted his own, Rodney's hand falling away to John's shoulder. "Rodney, did you just tell me that you think I'm smart?"

Rodney pulled him forward, meeting him halfway for a quick kiss. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Oh, no, of course not," John said, smiling and on the verge of laughter, and John _could_ see it—staying here, getting a job, being with Rodney, doing physics. It was frightening how good that picture looked in John's head.

"Think about it, okay? You don't have to be unhappy, John."

John nodded, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "Yeah, I will." And with that, Rodney reached out and pushed John's chair back toward the desk, almost hard enough to make him fall. "Hey!" John said, indignant.

Rodney assumed his previous position on the bed, pulling the papers up onto his lag again. "Yeah, yeah. Do your homework, you slacker."

* * *

It took John about fifteen minutes to dial the familiar numbers, worn permanently into his head by his mom as a child. He was sure he'd never forget them, even if he hadn't dialed them in over a year.

"Hello, Sheppard residence." John recognized Jeannine's voice instantly. She'd been their housekeeper since John was a baby, and she'd stayed longer than anyone else had. John remembered her as a fixture, feeding him after school snacks and making sure that his knees were bandaged up after he fell off his bike, after his mom was gone.

"Hey, Jeannine." John smiled in spite of the fact that his heart was pounding and his hands were sweaty, slipping against the plastic of the phone.

"Johnny! Well, this is certainly unexpected. How's California?" Jeannine's voice was warm and familiar and John let himself sink into it that feeling, for a brief moment.

"It's good. Listen, is my dad there? I need to talk to him."

"Sure, honey, absolutely. I'll go get him. It was so good to hear your voice, really."

"You too," John replied, listening to the sounds of the phone being set on the table, Jeannine's voice calling for his father, the sound of the phone being picked up again.

"John, this is a surprise," his father said coolly.

"I need to talk to you."

His dad cleared his throat. "Well, I've been meaning to give you a call so we could talk about when you come back. I thought you might want some time to regroup after graduation—maybe you can start on June 1st."

"That's actually why I'm calling." John stopped. He knew he needed to just say it. He needed to spit it out and then deal with the fallout, but it felt like this would be last thing, the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with his dad. As much as his dad had been an asshole for the last fifteen years, he was still family, and it still, in some way, felt like he was losing something.

"Oh?" John's dad kept his voice even, but John could tell it was a hardship.

"I've been thinking about it, and I don't think I'm going to come work for the company after graduation."

John's dad laughed, and John had to clench his fist around the phone, because there almost something nasty behind it. "That's not funny, John."

"I wasn't trying to be funny, Dad."

A moment passed. John switched the phone to his other ear, willing his heart to settle down. "You will graduate in May and you will come home and do what you're supposed to do." His dad's voice was harder than John had ever heard it, and they'd spent most of John's life screaming at each other, whether or not it was out loud.

"I don't think so," John replied, voice calmer than he felt.

"You don't think so? You have _responsibilities_ that you've shirked for entirely too long. I know I've let your little rebellious phase go on for a long time, but enough's enough."

John took a deep breath. "See, the thing is, it's not a phase. I don't _want_ any of it. The job, the money, the power, any of it."

"I don't care." His father's voice was sharp and cutting. And John knew that it was time to say what he had to say, before this got out of hand.

"I'm sorry that things couldn't be better with us, Dad, I really am. I know that you think I should be grateful for everything you've given me, and I am, but I also know at the end of the day that it's just stuff. And I don't want it any more."

"You know this is the end, don't you? No more trips to Europe, no more college degrees paid for, no more cars, nothing." There wasn't a hint of sadness in his father's voice. He sounded angry, nothing more.

John nodded slowly, even though his dad couldn't see him. "Yeah, I know. I'm actually kind of looking forward to it."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" his dad asked, clipped like always but now there was something there now that sounded something like regret. John wished he believed that he could somehow fix this, but he knew the only way he'd make it with himself intact was to get out now.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." Up until that moment, he hadn't been sure at _all_, but now—now he absolutely was.

"Suit yourself then. I guess we'll talk sometime later then?" His dad sounded unsure and there was a hint there of how things maybe could have been, in some alternate universe.

"Goodbye, Dad. Tell Dave good luck next year."

"Goodbye." John's dad hung up first, and John sat on his bed, holding the receiver to his ear for a long while, until the busy signal sounded in his ear.

* * *

"Hey, I'm home!" John pulled his key out of the front door and shut it behind him. He dropped his bag, far lighter than it had been a mere few weeks before, no longer full of math and physics textbooks, or the occasional Russian tragedy.

"Hey," Rodney called from the couch. John could see the back of his head, and he smiled as he kicked off his sneakers and plopped himself onto the opposite end of the couch. An old rerun of Doctor Who was on the television and Rodney didn't even turn his head to look at John. John propped his back up against the arm rest and brought his feet up onto the cushion, poking his toes into the side of Rodney's thigh. Finally, Rodney huffed and switched off the show, turning to face John.

"Can I help you?"

John grinned at Rodney and Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, nothing—just thought you'd want to know that I got a job today."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"And?" Rodney said impatiently.

"I got a job at Peet's, actually." Graduation had been about three weeks before, and bank deposits from his dad had dried up back in April, as promised. Rodney had come over one night in early May to find John packing, clothes piled on his bed, boxes open all over the floor.

Rodney had given him a quick kiss on the cheek and sat down at the desk. "So, graduation is in two weeks."

"Yeah." John threw another stack of t-shirts into a box.

"So..."

John pulled a piece of tape noisily across the top of one full box. "The answer is no, I still don't know what I'm going to do." He sighed and pushed the tape down. "On the bright side, my dad sent me the insurance information for the car and the title today, so I can always sell it if I get into a tight spot. Of course, I also have to pay the insurance for a twenty two year old on a Porche, so."

Rodney stood up and tugged on John's arms to pull him close. "Why don't you come stay with me?" he said, voice shaky but without hesitation.

"What?" John couldn't actually believe he'd heard that right.

"I know my place is a dump." Rodney sounded kind of embarrassed, but he held tight to John. "But I think it would be okay, the two of us. Don't you?"

John closed his eyes, breathing in Rodney's scent, which in such a short time had become the only thing that had ever really meant being safe and home to him since he came back to the house that day to find his mom gone. He felt in many ways like he couldn't possibly deserve this—everything that Rodney gave him with eyes wide open, even when John knew that Rodney sometimes wanted to freak out too. John couldn't help but want what Rodney was offering. "Are you sure? You have to be sure, Rodney."

Rodney pulled him even closer. "I'm sure. And we'll figure the rest of it out."

It had turned out that Rodney was right, as usual, about the whole thing. Granted, they'd only been living together for about a month, but John couldn't help the smile that spread across his face every time he came home to find Rodney there, always there, every time. He wanted to make Rodney proud of him. He hadn't felt that way about anyone in longer than he could remember. And he loved that he could do that by getting a crappy job at the local coffee joint.

"Do you get free coffee?" Rodney sounded ridiculously eager. John laughed and scooted over to Rodney's side of the ratty, third- or fourth-hand couch, which smelled like Doritos. And he didn't even really care. Rodney threw his arm over John's shoulder, and John let himself tuck in.

"Yeah, I get free coffee, Rodney," John said playfully. "Hsu also needs a research assistant for the summer, so maybe Peet's will be temporary anyway. I could join the ranks of the poor grad students soon."

"So." Rodney's voice was muffled by the fact that he had his lips buried in John's hair. "If I wish that you don't get into the PhD program and stay my own personal, free barista, does that make me a bad boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Figures." Rodney picked up the remote again and Doctor Who blared back to life on the television. Rodney's arm was warm around him, and John couldn't think of a single battle he had to fight. He had to worry about how they were going to pay the rent and car insurance and taking the GRE and showing up to work. And he knew, despite neither of them ever saying it out loud, that Rodney was going to be there for all of it. For the first time in his life, he wasn't putting on another fake smile and shroud of half-truths and complete lies. And he'd ended up, while losing everything, gaining more than he'd ever had.

John tucked his feet up underneath him on the couch, letting the warmth and familiar scent of Rodney drift over him, taking in the entirety of their small, shabby apartment, their hand-me-down furniture, their crappy view of another brick building outside of the open window. He couldn't think of a single thing he wanted or anywhere else he'd want to be but right where he was, at that moment.


End file.
